


A Name in Your Image

by ShiroHatzuki



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: (i like how that's so popular that the tag just pops up), Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Growing Up, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Character, Trans Fujisaki Chihiro, Two Shot, i swear that fluff will happen, it starts by calling Sakura by the name 'Osamu', pronouns change, trans sakura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroHatzuki/pseuds/ShiroHatzuki
Summary: He had many feelings as he grew up, be he could set them aside in favor of his simple life of sparring and training. He could stay by his friend and rival's side and work on his goal of being the strongest man in the world. But of course these days had to end, and he had to grow. But how could he expect his life to change so suddenly?----In which a boy grows up to face the person he had pushed away deep inside him for so long and becomes Sakura Ogami.





	A Name in Your Image

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday tribute to my favorite girl in Danganronpa: Sakura Ogami!! In this fic, we start off by using male pronouns to refer to Sakura, and her name will be Osamu until we reach the point in which she realizes her gender in part 2.

Ogami Osamu was not a normal child. From the moment he was born, he was destined to fight. He trained his body until it was bulky and covered in a storybook of scars that told tales of his growth. He could beat the best fighters from around the world, and he could even beat his father. Furthermore, he was to inherit his family’s dojo, which had trained some of the best fighters the world had seen for 300 years. The famed “Hope's Peak Academy” that was known across the world was bound to scout him out as soon as he was of age, he knew. He was gifted the strength to fight from the heavens itself.

Yet he felt that he was not adequate for this role. One reason for this was because he was not the strongest man in the world. That title was his to win from his childhood best friend, Kenshiro. He could never beat his best friend, but he always reached for that goal anyway.

His second reason was less concrete, and he felt that it was quite silly from a logical standpoint. He could not understand it, and he felt ashamed of it. How was he to conquer the strongest man alive if he could not even conquer his own body?

The true problem was that he was dissatisfied with himself. It was not that he wanted to be stronger or have bigger muscles, but that when he saw the bulk in his arms, it all felt so wrong to him. He was more than happy to fulfill his destiny, but the things that came with that destiny were undesirable to him. What he really wanted were beautiful things. Gentle things. Elegant and fragile things that were of no benefit to his training. But these were desires that he had to keep to himself, for he had to focus on the thing he was made to do.

One spring day, Kenshiro and Osamu sparred in the center of a grove. It was a sort of ritual for them to spar whenever they met -a tradition that had become second nature to the friendly rivals. Of course, it was normal for Osamu to be the one to lose, and that time was no different. They exchanged blow after blow. Each move Osamu made was countered by Kenshiro until, in the end, he was left defeated. He was never disappointed with this result, though. He always gained something valuable from each fight, regardless of the results. If he just kept trying, he felt he would be able to find the one weakness in his friend’s attacks that he could exploit. But in the meantime, he had to accept his loss until their next fight as they sat back on the ground, appreciating the small world around them. The cherry blossom trees were in full bloom that day, and the breeze colored the air pink. In that grove of cherry trees, the day was simply…

“Beautiful,” Kenshiro breathed out. “No matter how many times I see these trees in bloom, the sight is always beautiful.”

Osamu glanced over to Kenshiro. “They never last very long, though. Their lives are so fleeting.”

“Perhaps, but regardless, they always come back every year. They are stubborn that way.” His eyes turned to Osamu, his usual perfect smile on his face. “They remind me of you, in a sense.”

“I do not think so at all,” Osamu told his friend.

“But it’s true,” Kenshiro chuckled. “Even when you have been beaten, you always come back. It's an admirable resilience. Also, I think you can be beautiful like them, especially when you fight.”

“I… see.” Osamu was not quite sure how to respond to this flattery. He could not find himself completely agreeing with the other’s opinions, but Kenshiro had a way with words that always caught him off guard. It made his chest hurt, yet it filled him with warmth. “Thank you.”

Spending time with Kenshiro was enjoyable to Osamu, whether they were sparring or just sitting around and talking. Kenshiro was the strongest man he ever knew. Not only was he skilled in hand to hand combat, but his mindset was resilient and steady to match. Osamu had never met a man as solid and sure as Kenshiro before, and he guessed that he would never meet another like him in a lifetime. He found himself enjoying pursuing his friendly rival, especially when they were sparring. While sparring, his mind could focus, and for those moments, his emotions could be set aside in favor of focusing on the man in front of him.

Of course, the two would not spend all of their time together sparring. However, when they were not engaged in combat, Kenshiro was just as puzzling, and Osamu had no way of understanding the reason why. He tended to say things easily, such as the word "beautiful" or "cute." Especially when Osamu was involved. At one point, he even said Osamu would look good with longer hair. He had no idea what would incline his friend to say such a thing, but he followed the advice. And he did like the longer hair, though he was not going to admit aloud that he liked how nice long hair looked.

Furthermore, there were the gifts. Not a lot of gifts, since Kenshiro knew Osamu lived by a simple lifestyle, but once in a while, there would be something for him. Flowers picked from the mountains, a doll, a stuffed animal. Once, he even received a decorative hair pin. He never knew how to react to these items, but he accepted them with gratitude. They were from a friend, after all.

There was an urge to throw them all out, though, for they brought out desires and emotions in him. All of which he could never put in order, and even if he did, he felt as if the peaceful days would end. So he made sure to bury them, finding ways to make them ever so deeper until they were out of sight and out of his mind.

The end to these simple days were inevitable, but it felt as though it came too quickly. That fateful evening, Osamu rushed to his father in the dojo, calling to him in his panic. “Father!”

“Slow down, my son,” his father said in his usual stern tone. As if it was any other evening. But it was not. They both knew it was not.

“Father, is it true?” Osamu asked in as calm of a voice as he could manage, though it was difficult to actually do. "Is it true that Kenshiro is... He is in the hospital?"

For a moment, there was no response. Just the faint sound of their breathing filled the silence. Then his father spoke once again, frank and cold. "Yes."

He felt the world collapse in on itself. "... Why? Why is he...?" The words seemed to catch in his throat as emotions bubbled up, threatening to spill over.

"He is ill. It is not so unexpected, since his mother was the same."

"I... see." The strongest man the world had ever known, who had gone undefeated multiple times by even Osamu and the rest of the dojo, fell to illness. The irony weighed heavy on Osamu's shoulders.

His father only sighed. "Peace, Osamu, Peace." Yet as he left, there was no peace to be found in his heart.

For some time, Osamu held off of visiting Kenshiro. It was not because of any animosity towards the other, of course. Rather, it was due to the unrest in his heart. He felt a need to sort through his mess of emotions before he visited his friend. Every day, he trained harder than he once did, trying to clear his mind. Sparring, weight training, meditating, agility training; he did it all, allowing his focus to be solely on the task at hand as he pushed aside everything else.

However, when he allowed himself to rest, his irrational thoughts would creep back into his head. His muscles had grown in size, his face was more masculine, and he was fairly sure his voice was becoming gruff and deep, like his father's. He would look at the pretty things that Kenshiro had given him, then at the mirror. What a difference there was between him and those objects! While they were beautiful, cute, small, and soft, he was far from any of those. And he hated the part of him that hated that difference.

But most of all, he hated the part of him that seemed so dependant on Kenshiro. He loved his friend, of course. There was nothing wrong with wishing for the health of his friend, he knew. But some little voice filled his mind with something else. Kenshiro's smiles and laughter and sweet strangeness. All of the times they sat together after their fights, simply talking or taking in their surroundings. How he wished for those days to return. How he yearned for the company of the other.

How he loved his friend. How he hated his dangerous thoughts.

Then there was the letter. His father handed him the white envelope with an intricate seal one morning, telling him that some men dressed in suits came to the dojo at sunrise while Osamu was out on his morning run. "They say they are from Hope's Peak Academy," his father explained. "You have heard of it?"

"Yes, once or twice." He took the envelope, breaking the seal. Inside was a paper, crisp and perfectly folded. He read it over, half expecting its contents, but not quite believing it. "It's saying... they want me. In the school."

His father gave a low hum in acknowledgement. "What talent?"

He looked over the letter one more time to make sure he said the correct thing. "Martial arts."

"Of course it is. That is what you dedicated yourself to, after all. Will you accept?"

A thousand thoughts ran through Osamu's mind. This prestigious school was recruiting him for his talent, but what would that mean for him? Would it truly help him find success? Will he grow stronger through whatever the school has to offer? What of the dojo? What of his current life? What of Kenshiro?

"I... need to carefully consider this," he concluded. That was the best he could do, and there was no need to rush his decision.

“Then do so.” Some students were coming into the dojo, whom his father briefly turned towards to give a nod in greeting. “Make sure you tell Kenshiro about this.”

“What?” Osamu could feel his blood run cold.

“You know what I mean.” He did know, but he wished he did not. “You are his friend, Osamu. You should not run from his side anymore, for you may regret it.”

And he knew that his father was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Please stand by for the second part, which is to be released tomorrow.


End file.
